


A Long Night

by captainshellhead, vibraniumstark



Series: We Meet at Dawn and Dusk [1]
Category: Temeraire - Naomi Novik
Genre: Book 3: Black Powder War, Falling In Love, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pining, Realization
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-26
Updated: 2015-09-26
Packaged: 2018-04-23 10:01:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4872574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captainshellhead/pseuds/captainshellhead, https://archiveofourown.org/users/vibraniumstark/pseuds/vibraniumstark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tharkay has a realization.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Long Night

**Author's Note:**

> Written for annicron's prompt: "The moment Tharkay first realizes he's in love with Laurence".

They dropped into the Austrian fort in the dead of night, stirring the whole camp to life with their arrival. Temeraire landed in the center of the camp, terrifying the men and horses alike, while Laurence bellowed orders not to shoot over the chaos. Once they had managed to communicate that they were friendly, Colonel Eigher’s men were more than accommodating. 

There was not enough room for them to put all of the aviators up, but they were given free reign of the courtyard to set up camp, and ample supplies of coffee to warm them. Captain Laurence had gone some hours ago to speak with Colonel Eigher, and Tharkay had quietly sequestered away in a corner to pitch his tent, where he might have a little privacy.

Tharkay lowered himself down onto his pallet gingerly and sighed, relieved to finally have his weight off his leg. He had bound the burn on his thigh haphazardly during their escape, and then for lack of a better option born it through their long flight. Now he was dreading having to remove the bandage.

He laid back and crossed one arm over his eyes, allowing himself a moment’s rest. 

Outside he could hear the distant conversations sprouting around the aviator’s tents, an air of subdued joviality creeping into their tired voices. It had been a long and tense flight, escaping with the kazilik egg in hand, and after the loss of one egg and one man as well, the tension in the crew had only been building; certainly it was a relief to them to finally have the opportunity to rest. 

Even so, their conversations remained quiet out of respect. It was late. Tharkay lay long enough for the minutes to blend together, his leg half hanging over the pallet’s edge, listening to the sounds of the camp, drifting.

The rustle of the tent flap drew him out of his light doze. He lifted his arm away just slightly to cast a glance at the entrance, and when he saw who it was he was awake once more. 

“Am I intruding?” Laurence asked.

“Not at all,” Tharkay said, sitting up to a more dignified position. The light was dim inside the tent, not quite within reach of the campfires, so that it would be impossible to see Laurence clearly were it not for the candle he carried with him. “Is there something I can do for you?”

Laurence ducked inside, and in the candlelight Tharkay could see the weariness in his expression. His coat was rumpled, having dried in wrinkled lines after being exposed to the damp bath house and the wind in rapid succession. Tharkay’s gaze flicked to his still bare throat—his neckcloth having been sacrificed to gagging the bath house guards—and then away; he must not have had time to fetch a replacement since their landing. Tharkay could only imagine Laurence’s embarrassment at seeing the colonel in such a state. Still, for as rumpled as he was, he wore it well.

“Temeraire is asleep,” Laurence said. He pushed the stray hairs from his eyes tiredly. “I thought I might stop in to see how you are doing.”

“Shouldn’t you be asleep as well?” Tharkay asked.

“I could ask the same of you,” Laurence said. “It has been a long night.”

That was certainly an understatement. In truth Tharkay had found himself too distracted to sleep after their long flight. He was exhausted, and his thigh had settled somewhere between numbness and a dull ache so long as he did not move it, which was far better than he could have hoped having not seen to it, and he wanted nothing more than to sleep, and yet...

Laurence eyed him with concern, setting the candle down and coming to the cot, where Tharkay’s leg was still elevated. The wound had bled very little--the heat of the poker had seen to that--but still the haphazard leather bindings he’s managed during their escape gave it a far more worrisome appearance. 

“Have you seen a surgeon yet?” Laurence asked, full of all the sincerity and concern of a good captain, and a good man.

“Ah,” Tharkay waved a dismissive hand. “The wound is cauterized already. There is little else one could do save bandage it, and I can manage that well enough on my own.”

He had set the bandages out already, earlier, when he’d still had the energy, and so had left them resting on the edge of the cot while he dozed. Laurence, spotting them, stooped to pick them up. He twisted the very edge of the bandage between his thumb and forefinger, a nervous habit.

“May I?” Laurence offered, making a sweeping gesture over his leg. 

Tharkay’s immediate impulse was to say no, that he had bandaged himself up successfully more times than he cared to remember, with wounds more grave, and this was certainly no special circumstance, but the look on Laurence’s face gave him pause. His expression was so stubbornly determined he looked as though he might believe the wound would mortify the instant Tharkay dared refused him. 

“If it would put you at ease,” he said instead, and shifted slightly aside to allow him room to sit. 

Gently his fingers plied at the leather straps binding the wound, peeling them back as gently as he could where what little blood there was matted the edges of his trousers and stuck to the skin. With those finally unfastened, Laurence leaned over to set the straps at his feet. Indecision held Tharkay for a moment as he considered how he might reach a wound so high on his thigh with the least amount of indecency.

Well, he had given up his trousers for a lost cause anyway, bearing a scorched hole nearly the size of a fist by the time he’d managed to smother the flame with his tailcoat. He took his knife and sliced a line in the fabric from his hip to his knee, exposing his naked thigh. 

Laurence made a small noise at the sight of the wound, having taken on an angry red coloration, the edges just beginning to blister and swell. Exposed now to the air, the wound stung quite fiercely, and Tharkay suppressed a wince as Laurence prodded gently at the edges to assess the extent of the damage. 

Laurence murmured a quiet apology as he did so, testing the skin above and below the wound, but the burn had been quick and the poker accurate in its target; little more of the skin and muscle of his thigh had been affected. 

Tharkay had managed to acquire a salve from the doctor before he retired, and this Laurence applied to the wound.

He bent his knee slightly, and Laurence shifted closer so that they faced one another more fully before beginning to unwind the bandages.

“I imagine this is not what you expected when you agreed to be our guide,” Laurence said.

“My travels with you have been no more dangerous than with any other,” Tharkay said. “It is a hazard of the job.”

“And yet,” Laurence said, “you have my sincere gratitude for all of your help. I could not have expected you to stay with us, under the circumstances.”

To this Tharkay said nothing. He did not know _what_ to say, because the journey crossing the desert was a familiar one, and even Istanbul was not so far out of his way, but still he continued on with them when he could have at any moment taken his leave. It was no amount of money that swayed him to stay, and certainly not any desire for seeing them to their ultimate destination, which must certainly be Britain in the end. 

No, Tharkay could not have expected to stay so long, either, had the situation been described to him, yet here he was, trailing along after them, and certainly of no more use as a guide now as they continued on their journey. The logical course would have been to leave off in Istanbul, and yet he hadn’t, and even now he found himself reluctant to go.

Certainly there was nothing to hold him here. 

Laurence had noticed his contemplation and turned upon him with a queer look; one warm hand rested on Tharkay’s thigh where he had paused in unwinding the bandage, to hold his place.

Certainly he was--

“Is everything all right?” Laurence asked, "Have I wound it too tight?" The kindness in his voice inspired an unexpected flush of emotion, radiating out from Tharkay's chest and at the same time, constricting--

Oh. 

“That should suffice, I think,” he said quickly, shifting his leg away and then reaching down to tuck in the stray edge of the bandage. In truth it was a little loose yet, but he was not certain he could stand the warm touch of Laurence’s hand for much longer.

Laurence seemed a bit startled by the sudden change of pace, and he looked somewhat dubiously at his handiwork. “You are sure?” he asked.

Tharkay made to stand, and was entirely unsurprised when Laurence offered him a hand. He waved his concerns off with a jaunty air. 

“It will suffice until morning at least,” he said. “It is late; we should both of us get some sleep.”

To this Laurence made no protest, though he appraised him with an air that Tharkay had come to identify as his attempting to read him. Tharkay wondered, vaguely, if this would be the moment where Laurence chose to prove himself especially perceptive.

Instead, Laurence nodded his acceptance, ever too polite to pry into Tharkay’s moods.

“Very well,” he said. “Good night, Mr. Tharkay.”

“Yes, good night,” he said, and then sat heavily on the bed after Laurence had gone; he would not find sleep for some time.


End file.
